


A Place of Comfort

by Alphin



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Greek Mythology - Freeform, Kidnapping, M/M, Pining, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:15:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28677990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphin/pseuds/Alphin
Summary: Deimos is the God of Terror and Dread. He has been pining for Agathos (God of Compassion and Strength of Mind) for the past 50 years.When Deimos gets nervous an aura of Dread/Terror radiates from him, making it nearly impossible to meet new people without something going wrong. He's content to watch his unrequited love from a distance, unwilling to risk frightening him away.His twin brother, Phobos, however, has come up with a plan to help him.
Relationships: Aglaia of the Charities/Hephaestus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Aphrodite/Ares, Deimos/Agathos
Kudos: 4





	A Place of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Song: Overwhelmed by Royal & the Serpent

There were few who would dare to speak ill of any party thrown by Dionysus. The God of Wine had a talent for sewing revelry into just about any occasion, a talent that the many Gods and Goddesses of Olympus were pleased to take part in.

It was at one of these events that I found myself wandering aimlessly along the bright marbled halls of Dionysus’ home, lavished in garlands of the most vibrant colours and smelling sweetly of the floral nectar nestled between their delicate petals. The sound of music drifted from the courtyard as if carried by a light breeze, a pleasant sound meant to soothe the soul and wash away the worries of the day, if only for a little while.

By all accounts I should have been enjoying myself. Everyone else clearly was, as they always do at these events. However, no matter how hard I tried I simply couldn’t match their high spirits.

It was as though through all the laughter, music, and merrymaking, there was a void of loneliness that haunted me, and me alone, like a cold spot in a room to be avoided. Even those I approached would find themselves eager to leave my presence, no matter how pleasant or cordial I tried to be.

Though I couldn’t blame them for it. I am Deimos, the God of Terror and Dread, son of Ares, and not someone most would be eager to talk to. 

It was mostly my Divine ‘Gift’ that kept people away -a rare talent possessed by Gods to shape and change the way the world worked. Some Gods could change physical things, or affect life -or death- in some way. But others like myself, who reign over emotions and matters of the heart and mind, can have a different influence. Mine is the ability to instill Dread and Terror into the hearts and minds of those touched by my gift.

Most Gods had no trouble controlling their Divine Gifts. For many it came as naturally as breathing, but I was not so fortunate. Mine surfaced as it pleased, often worsening with my anxieties, which were ever present at social events such as these. 

I unintentionally made my way back to the lounge where most of the party was taking place, and where my father and brother have been spending their time. They were the only people I was familiar with here, but I had no desire to seek them out. I already spent more than enough time in their presence at home, or in the fields of war where our influences could spread freely. No, I returned here for a different reason. A different person.

Agathos, God of Compassion and Strength of Mind, born to Hephaestus and Aglaia. He stood amid the younger Charities who had congregated by the large fountain that centred the lounge, pale hair loosely tied back with a golden pin of laurels tucked behind his ear. He was gazing into a glass of wine, deep in thought as he swished the liquid idly in its confines. 

He is the real reason I attended these parties, even though the two of us have barely exchanged a word, aside from the one time we met face to face. 

It was brief. I dropped a letter meant for my father, and he ran just to return it, having no clue who I was or what my gift did. Sometimes I wonder if things would have turned out differently if he knew. 

Would he have still smiled at me as he handed it over, all sunshine and warmth? 

“You dropped this.” he said. Three words. Three words that fell like music from his lips, so naturally and casually. Just three words and my brain was already jumping to all the possibilities of this going horribly wrong, lighting a fire under my nerves.

“Thank you?” I said, sounding as dumb and confused as I felt. 

He looked as though he was about to say something, but it was too much for me. I didn’t know what to say or do, and with each passing moment I was getting more and more anxious. My Divine Influence began to stir in response, licking at the edges of my being, threatening to spill over and turn his warmth cold with Dread.

And so I turned and left as quickly as I could and didn’t look back. 

It was such a quick exchange, but one that had ingrained itself in my mind. 

Over the years I’d see him at feasts and parties, and always, always, always I’d end up stewing over what might have happened if I hadn’t run away, if there was no fear of scaring him with my presence. 

Aphrodite, my mother, was quick to notice how drawn I was to him. It was her that told me who he was, and of her complicated past with his father. I was surprised to find out that his mother was Aglaia, one of the Charities and a faithful attendant to my mother.

She offered to have us meet many times, claiming that she could talk to Aglaia about it. But I always refused. The last thing I needed was parental intervention -especially from the Goddess of Love.

And so I contented myself with glimpses of him here and there, mostly at parties where we were more likely to be in the same place. Tonight was no different. I found the emptiest spot in the room -a raised area against the back wall showcasing several of the beautiful paintings that adorned Dionysus’ home- and dared myself to sneak a look at him now and then.

He had a face as gentle as twilight, soft featured like a woman at first glance, with a delicate frame that hid the lean muscle coiled beneath. His chin was proud, and his jaw was a softened edge that stood out against the graceful curve of his neck. Most enchanting of all, though, were his ever-changing eyes, rimmed with thick lashes. Tonight, I observed, they were a golden shade of orange, the same colour I normally saw him with.

I felt lighter seeing him there, leaned up against the cool stone of the fountain as one of his sisters whispered something in his ear. A smile bloomed on his face, and his eyes rippled into a soft blue as he turned to whisper something back. 

I wish I knew what those colours meant.

“Deimos!” my brother Phobos called me, drawing my attention away to see him heading towards me. In each hand he carried a crystal-like glass containing either wine, nectar, or quite possibly a mixture of both.

Phobos was much like me in appearance, though that's hardly surprising given that we’re twins. We shared the same night-dark hair, face, and strong build. We were alike in every way except for our eyes. His were a hazy purple that sparked wickedly in the candlelight. I, on the other hand, had inherited our mother’s lovely eyes -a deep fuschia, or shocking pink depending on the lighting.

Phobos often teased me for them in our younger years, but not so much as of late. Something I was more than grateful for.

Overall we got along well enough. Sure, there were fights now and then, but with the God of War as our father it was to be expected. Encouraged, even, at times.

Ares wasn’t such a horrible father compared to some of the other Gods, like Zeus, for example. He was tough on us, and forced us through countless hours of training so that we might be worthy of riding beside him in battle, but in the end it only made us stronger. Despite his tough love, he took every opportunity to boast about us to willing ears. To him, we were everything he could have asked for as his progeny. We were the Fear and Terror of war. Phobos would ride into battle, bringing panic and fear to the mortals he influenced, and I wandered through the ranks of soldiers before the battle began, sowing terror and dread. I am the feeling soldiers face in the still moments before the bloodshed truly starts.

“Here, drink.” Phobos ordered as he pushed one of the glasses into my hand. Reluctantly, I took it and blankly stared into it as I whirled it around, causing the golden liquid to shimmer with the motion. 

“You know I don’t like drinking at these things.” I reminded him, and in response he rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink.

“Maybe if you did you’d actually let loose for once. Live a little.”

“Or I’d make a fool of myself and never want to show my face again.” I frowned and Phobos stared at me, unimpressed with my cowardice.

“Why do you even come to these? It's not like father makes you.” he pointed out, settling beside me to lean against the wall.

I stiffly brought the nectar to my lips and took a slow drag, stalling, buying myself time to think of an answer when I knew deep down there was nothing I could say that would keep him from prying further.

It’s then that I heard familiar laughter coming from the fountain, immediately catching my attention, giving me a blessed distraction from my brother's nosiness.

Agathos and his sisters were laughing at Morpheus, no doubt sharing one of his wild dream-walking tales. They looked like a painting, Morpheus gesturing grandly as their little group watched, the tinkling fountain and it’s immaculate statues serving as the perfect backdrop.

“Deimos?” Phobos waved a hand in front of my face, drawing my attention back to him. He was watching me closely. Waiting

“Pardon,” I said, and blurted out the first excuse that came to mind, “It's been a while since I’ve had quality nectar.”

I immediately regretted it when Phobos’ gaze flicked over to the fountain he’d caught me staring at. Slowly, understanding dawned on his face.

“Mm. You seem rather distracted tonight.” he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “Surely it’s not just the nectar?”

“I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” he pressed.

“That’s none of your business.” I shot back, defensive.

“Is it the redhead, the brunette, or the pretty blond one?” he cut right to the point, forgoing any pretense of ignorance he was trying to maintain. 

“Phobos that’s not-” I began to say.

“Or is it the one off to the right trying to flex for the nymphs? He doesn’t seem your type but…” he trailed off, grinning wickedly. He always knew exactly how to get on my last nerve, and I hated him for it.

“Enough!” I grabbed his shoulder, urging him to stop. “Please. Keep your voice down.”

I reluctantly drew myself closer to him and whispered, confirming his suspicions, “It’s the blond.”

“Of fucking course it’s the blond,” he groaned, “you are just so predictable, you know that?”

I jabbed my elbow into his rib, and he shoved his shoulder into mine. A Goddess that had been lounging by the edge of the bannister shot us a glare and we immediately ceased our petty squabbling. I held my breath until she turned around and freed us from her icy gaze, letting it out in one big huff and glaring at Phobos. He shrugged innocently and the two of us went silent.

A calmness spread between us, and Phobos peeked back at the little group by the fountain, not bothering to conceal his gaze. I silently worried over the idea of them noticing that they were being watched, but did nothing to stop him. From the most distant end of the room there came the pop of a cork being pulled, and a soft cheer. The world felt still despite all that was going on around us, and my heart anxiously pounded in my chest, an aura of dread beginning to build up in me as I waited for him to say something. Anything.

There was no worry of scaring him off -one of the perks of our Divine Affinities being so closely related-, and with no one else close enough to feel it, I allowed it to spill over and fill our little space. 

“What’s he the God of?” Phobos asked, deep in thought, his gaze fixed on Agathos.

“Strength.” I answered, and then quickly added, “and compassion.”

“Strength? Really? He doesn’t look very strong.” He observed. 

“Not physical strength. Mental, more like? Mental fortitude.” I explained.

“Hm. Have the two of you ever spoken?”

“Once, briefly,” I sighed, “though I don’t even think he knows I exist.”

“Then go introduce yourself!” he urged, turning to me, “You’ll never win him if you keep staring.”

“I can’t,” I said, dejectedly, “The very thought of speaking with him makes me nervous, and you know I can’t control my divine influence when I’m nervous. I’d scare him and he’d never want to look at me again, let alone speak with me.”

“Oh come on, Deim. How long have you been pining for him?” 

“...Fifty years, give or take.” I answered, sheepish and embarrassed by my admittance.

“Then fuck it! If you don’t make a move, nothing will change. You have nothing to lose by saying hello.” He tried to sound encouraging, but his words did nothing to motivate me. I had made up my mind long ago.

“It’s not the ‘hello’ I’m worried about.” I said, and slouched further against the wall, “It’s what comes after. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do. He’d probably run off before I even got the chance.”

“Hey. Listen.” Phobos said, his voice going serious as he grabbed my shoulder with his free hand and gave it a light shake. I stared down at it as if it had accused me of some great offence, but held my tongue and let it be. “Anyone would be lucky to have you. He just needs to spend some quality time with you to realize that.”

It’s moments like these that make me glad to have a brother, even with our petty fights and arguments. In the end we had each other’s back, and despite my general disbelief in his words, I knew he meant it, even if he was wrong. That alone made me feel somewhat better, knowing that he had such faith in me. At least someone did.

“That’s never going to happen, but I appreciate the thought.” I sighed and dusted his hand away from my shoulder. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m going home.”

He looked as though he meant to stop me, to pull me back and attempt to shake some sense into me. I was prepared to meet resistance, to argue, but there was no argument to be had. He made no move to stop me. 

“Fine. Go then.” he relented, feigning indifference. “Enjoy sitting at home like a loser.”

“Thanks, I will.” I passed him my glass and made my way across the room, towards the grand archway that led to the exit. Unable to help myself, I spared one last glance towards the fountain and froze. Agathos’ pretty amber eyes were watching me, and a shiver coursed down my spine. A bolder man might have waved, or smiled, or shown some form of acknowledgement, but I am not a bold man, and so I turned my back and left in a rush.

**Author's Note:**

> I was working on this story out of boredom and wasn't going to post it. But fuck it, why not?  
> I'm editing and cleaning up what I've been writing, and this is the result. (Up until now I've been working on a much sloppier/lazier version just to get the idea out of my head)  
> Agathos is an OC. I was trying to find a God for Compassion/Strength of Mind and couldn't find what I was looking for, so I made my own.  
> I'm not an expert on mythology. I just wanted to do this for fun.
> 
> I'm going to try and pick songs for each chapter. They'll either relate to the chapter, a character, or I might have just listened to it a lot while working on the chapter. They'll be in the notes at the top.


End file.
